Following Orders
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: Events after the phone call ends in "Chaos Rising". First in the "Painted" series.


Peter stood with his arms crossed over his chest, placidly watching Stiles pace nervously back and forth across the room. Stiles had been moving restlessly (almost twitching, really) since they lost contact with Scott, the call ending right after sounds of a vicious fight breaking out came across the line.

Stiles wrung his wrist, anxiously.

"We have to go help them―"

"Stiles, if _I_ can't help them in a fight against two moon-crazed wolves, then _we_ certainly can't," Peter sighed, feeling his annoyance with the teen beginning to rise again.

"We can't just do nothing―"

"We _are_ doing something. _I'm_ staying out of the way since my strength is sub-par and I'm making sure that _you _stay out of this tonight. Derek didn't want you there in the first place so just stay _put_ and stay _safe_," Peter groaned, wondering how much force he'd need to knock Stiles unconscious without giving him brain damage.

Stiles shot him an incredulous look. "Since when do _you_ care if I get hurt?"

"I don't," Peter said flippantly. "I'm following orders. If keeping you alive and un-maimed keeps Derek off my back, then that's exactly what I'll do."

Snorting derisively, Stiles strolled towards the elevator. "What, Derek's your Alpha now?"

"He's my nephew and an Alpha. It's more of a technicality. If you so much as touch that button, you'll be unconscious before the doors fully open," Peter called as Stiles reached out to touch the 'down' button on the elevator panel.

Stiles froze with his hand an inch from the lit-up button, his freedom so close yet miles away. His shoulders slumped, despondent. He turned back to look at his protector (captor). "So what, we just sit here and wait while they try to fight their way out of a trap? What kind of fucked up―?"

A far too chipper sounding trill echoed through the airy loft.

Peter dug into his pocket, fishing out his phone. "Derek?" he answered, his terseness the only give away to just how worried the werewolf had really been.

Stiles sprinted to Peter's side. He tilted his ear inches from the phone, desperate for news.

_"―to make sure Stiles stays there tonight. They got away. Everything...everything went wrong and now they're loose. Tell him to make up an excuse to his dad if he has to, I don't care, but whatever you do, _don't_ let him leave. He can't protect himself."_

"And I can?" Peter drawled.

There was a growl on the other end of the line. "_Peter."_

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Don't worry, Boy Wonder's going nowhere tonight."

"Hey," Stiles huffed indignantly, but backed down at Peter's pointed glance. "Did you find them?" he asked, knowing Derek could hear him.

There was silence for a few heart beats.

"Derek?" Peter prompted. A tiny crease drew his brows, like he could sense that something bigger was bothering the Alpha.

_"Just stay there. We'll talk later."_ A second later, Derek ended the call.

Gesturing frantically at the phone, he looked at Peter, wild-eyed. "That's it? _That's it?!_ 'Stay there, we'll talk later?' That's all the info we get?"

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Peter shrugged tiredly. "Considering there are two supercharged, out-of-control betas he has to track down, I'm surprised he stopped to give us an update at all." He walked over to Derek's bed and collapsed backwards on top of it with a soft groan.

Stiles glanced around the loft as though looking for help and finding none. When Peter seemed content to simply lie on the bed, his eyes closed and limbs akimbo, Stiles stalked over to glare down at the man. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting some rest, what's it look like?" Peter snarked back, his eyes still closed.

Stiles sputtered. "Seriously? You haven't even _done_ anything!"

Peter opened his eyes to fix the outraged teen with irritated stare. "I forced my way into a beta's mind this morning to fish out suppressed memories, _thank you_. That takes considerable more skill and finesse than doing an internet search." And with that, he let his eyes drift shut again.

"Hey, that was an internet search _and _procurement of the bank's building specs, ok? Thank _you_," Stiles shot back, but got no response from Peter. The man just laid there, looking unconcerned and irritating and just the slightest bit sexy with that stupid V-neck shirt that showed off a sprinkling of chest hair―not just a few odd strands, but actually full-blown manly chest hair peeking out―and Stiles wondered if it was only across his chest or if it trailed all the way down to…

Stiles shook his head and jerked his eyes up from where he'd been eyeing Peter's crotch back to the man's face only to find that at some point during Stiles's mind wandering, the older man had opened his eyes again and had seen Stiles's unabashed staring.

Stiles started and took a hasty step back, feeling his cheeks flush. "I, uh…I didn't―"

"Stiles," Peter said softly.

"I didn't mean to― I mean, you just―And I didn't― Uh, oh god, please don't kill me―"

"_Stiles_."

Stiles closed his mouth with a snap and stood stock still, wondering if he should hope that Peter didn't mind being openly ogled by a teenager or if he should just take his chances with a run for the elevator.

"Come here," Peter coaxed, propping himself him on his elbow.

Blinking in confusion, Stiles's mind went unhelpfully blank. "Wha―what? Why?"

"You look tired," Peter said, but something in his tone made Stiles think that that wasn't what the older man was really trying to say.

Fidgeting, Stiles gave a half glance back towards the elevator. "No, I'm really not." And he wasn't. He was worried, confused, upset, and more aroused than he'd like to admit, but he sure as hell wasn't tired.

Peter cocked his head slightly, looking Stiles up and down, smiling like he was pleased with what he saw. "Well, with any luck, I'm sure I can tire you out."

Stiles was glad they were indoors because it was far less likely that a bug would fly into his gaping mouth than if they were outside, but then again, Stiles had never thought it likely that he'd be _propositioned_ by _Peter_ fucking _Hale._ "Did you just―? You want―"

"I didn't realize you needed an engraved invitation, Stiles," Peter sighed, sounding mildly put out that Stiles wasn't keeping up with the program as swiftly as he'd like.

"What? No! No invitation needed. Message received. It's just…" Stiles picked at a chipped fingernail nervously. "Um…the last person I tried to…_do_ anything with…kind of disappeared before anything could happen. Like, _literally _disappeared_._"

A cocky smirk played at Peter's lips. "Is that supposed to be an excuse or a challenge?"

"More of a warning, actually," Stiles murmured half to himself as he let his eyes freely trail over tightness of Peter's body. _Fuck_. It _had_ to be a werewolf thing. No one in their mid-to-late thirties should have a body that nice without having to really try for it.

Half of him didn't think this was a good idea in _any_ sense because hello, this was _Peter_, but mostly because Heather had asked him first and they _still_ didn't know where she was or what happened to her and she might even be _dead_ (Stiles tried his hardest not to think about that possibility), but if she was dead then Stiles couldn't _really_ be expected to wait, could he? Not when he had another person willing and able to punch a hole in his V-card, fucking laid out on a bed like a platter of cheese, and oh my god…

He was going to lose his virginity to Peter Hale, an ex-dead werewolf with a penchant for murder. This really was his life, wasn't it?

"Stiles," Peter said softly, his blue eyes dark with hunger. "Get on the bed."

"Uh, yeah. That would be…I can do that," Stiles stammered as the other half of him that _really_ wanted to be touched by another person overrode all of his misgivings about the idea. Quickly, Stiles bent in half to fumble with his shoe laces so he could rip off his shoes and socks.

A small cutting sound came from the end of the bed and Stiles popped his head up enough to see that, instead of untying his shoes, Peter had used his claws to rip through a shoe lace on each foot before kicking off his own shoes and socks.

Seeing Stiles's flabbergasted expression, Peter jerked his shoulders up in a shrug, the movement awkward in his half-propped up position on the bed. "I'll fix them later."

Okay and people called _Stiles_ impatient…

Barefoot and aroused, Stiles straightened and gave himself one last chance to reconsider this course of action. But after taking in an eyeful of apparently equally aroused werewolf, he told his inhibitions to go fuck themselves and did something he'd only ever seriously thought about when jacking off or in one of his crazy-hot dreams: he knelt a leg up on the edge of the bed, swung his other leg up and over to the other side of Peter, and straddled the older man, his nerves keeping him from full-out sitting on Peter's crotch.

His face was inches from the older man's and he found himself kind of mesmerized by just how clear and blue they were, their color almost enhanced by even human standards.

A hand―_Peter's _hand― slid up and down his tensed thigh in a way that was probably supposed to be soothing, but only served to wrack his nerves up a notch.

"Relax," Peter murmured against the soft skin of Stiles's neck, slowly kissing his way up it towards Stiles's jaw.

Stiles did his best to stifle the nervous giggle at that. "Wow, we're really doing this, aren't we?" The reality of what they were doing (and where it was happening) hit Stiles full force and his brain felt like it was on overload. But he wasn't freaking out. He had masturbated to _all_ kinds of porn so it wasn't like he had suddenly discovered a certain curiosity and arousal at the thought of getting it on with another guy.

Peter hummed against his jaw, nipping it with blunt, human teeth. "We might, if you stop talking." And with that, he gripped Stiles by the hair and dragged him into a rough kiss that made Stiles moan into his mouth and (finally) relax enough to press his hips fully against Peter's.

The kiss was wet and forceful, Peter's tongue delving into his mouth like he was _fucking_ it, and Stiles did his best to mimic the older man because _fuck_ did Peter know how to kiss, if the way Stiles's toes were curling was anything to go by. Without even thinking about it, Stiles's hands had wandered, one grasping at Peter's shirt and the other finding its way to the back of Peter's head, running through the short strands and massaging over the man's scalp.

Experimentally, Stiles rocked his hips against the older man's and Peter made a noise against his mouth. Before Stiles knew it, the older man had used his superior strength to flip them over on the bed so that he was kneeling between Stiles's bent legs. He hovered over the teen for a second before diving back into another heated kiss, carefully dropping his weight down so that nearly his entire front was pressed to Stiles's.

Instinctively, Stiles wound his arms around Peter's frame and rocked his hips again, groaning wantonly when his hard on clashed against the one in Peter's jeans.

Stiles broke the kiss. "We're really gonna do this," he said, barely getting the words out before Peter's lips were pressing against his own again.

"Stiles," Peter growled against his mouth.

"We're gonna do this. In Derek's bed," Stiles interrupted again, finding that fact equal parts hilarious and terrifying.

Peter nipped at his bottom lip. "Well, unless you want to move to the couch," he said with a roll of his hips.

Stiles's breath hitched in his throat and his hands fisted helplessly in Peter's shirt. "Ngh…bed is good, here is good." He dragged Peter back into a kiss, but broke away again when the man ground hard against him. "Oh, god. Derek's gonna kill us," he groaned, hoping the spike of arousal he felt was from Peter moving against him and not the thought of his own imminent death.

"Probably," Peter agreed with a quick kiss. "But he didn't say _how _I should keep you here. We're still following orders, he said, groaning softly when Stiles's fingernails dragged down his back though his shirt, making his body go taut. He pushed away to hover over Stiles again, fixing him with a serious look. "You're going to have to tell me when to stop. Otherwise," Peter whispered, running his hands up and down Stiles's thighs, "I might do anything to you."

Stiles took in a shaky breath and pushed up into Peter's hands. "I, um…I'm okay with that. I'm…pretty good with doing everything."

"Everything?" Peter's fingers dug into the meat of his thighs and Stiles bucked his hips slightly at the sensation.

"Yeah," Stiles groan, moving restlessly against the sheets. "We are 'go'. Hey, where are you going?" he asked, sitting up in alarm when Peter moved out from between his legs.

The look the older man threw over his shoulder at him as he paused in his ransack of the bedside table drawer would have been withering if Stiles hadn't been so tuned on. "Well, unless you _want_ me to tear your insides apart, I'm looking for something to ease the way." He went back to his rummaging and released a faint 'aha' when he pulled out a barely used tube of lubricant.

Stiles felt himself flush at both the sarcastic barb and the insinuation that Peter wanted to fuck him. He kind of figured he'd end up being slot B in this schematic (if he was really honest with himself, bottoming was what he was most curious about in gay sex anyway) and it made heat curl low in his belly at the thought of Peter opening him up and fucking into him.

Peter crawled back over and knelt next to him, popping open the button on his jeans. "You want this with clothes on or off?"

_Oh_, Stiles thought as a shiver ran through him. That wasn't fair. Peter didn't know any of his (theoretical) kinks, there was no way he could know…

"Um, how about half and half?" Stiles suggested with a squeak. Hoping to get his meaning across, Stiles quickly divested himself of his shirts, leaving him only in his jeans and boxers.

There was a dark smile playing at Peter's lips and he moved to loom over the teen. "You want me to fuck you with your pants on?" he whispered, his nose brushing against Stiles's.

Stiles had to swallow several times before was able to choke out a rough _'please'_. There were a few videos he had downloaded on his computer where the bottom was fucked hard and fast with his pants shoved down just enough to give his top access and Stiles had yet to last all the way through any of them before shooting his load all over his hand. And from the way his cock throbbed and balls ached, Stiles didn't think this time was going to be much different.

Peter nipped at Stiles's lip, just a shade away from breaking skin, and pulled away to rip his own shirt over his head, revealing a tightly muscled chest and an even dusting of hair on his pec's that thinned out on its way down his abdomen, except for where it formed a neat snail trail that disappeared into Peter's jeans.

Stiles licked his lips. He had a strange desire to follow it all the way down with his tongue.

Dropping the bottle onto the bed, Peter scooted closer on his knees and attacked the opening of Stiles's pants, practically ripping them open so he could shove his hand in and―

Bucking helplessly into Peter's grip on his leaking cock, Stiles cried out as the older man jacked him quickly. Peter's hand was a firm ring around him, twisting and pulling until Stiles came half a minute later, damn near biting a hole through his lip to stifle the noises that wanted to come out.

Boneless, Stiles lay panting as Peter rubbed come into his skin, like it was a freaking moisturizer or something.

"Why did you―, why did you―?"

Wiping his hand off on the comforter, Peter smiled at him, smug. "You weren't going to last if I didn't take the edge off. Don't worry, you'll bounce back soon enough," he said as he tugged his cock out of his pants.

It was… Stiles didn't know what he had expected. It should have occurred to him that, with the whole werewolf healing thing, circumcision would be out, but he was so used to seeing cut guys in his porn that Peter's uncut cock kind of took him aback. He swiftly got over his surprise as his curiosity took the lead. Even with foreskin, Peter was impressive, the skin stretching tight over his long, thick length and bunching over the head.

Cautiously, Stiles stretched out a hand, glancing up to make sure it was alright, and wrapped his hand around Peter's cock. Peter held still and let him stroke and play with it for a few seconds, but when Stiles's touch turned light and teasing, he rolled his hips impatiently, eager for something more. Squeezing the base firmly, Stiles decided that if he was in for a penny, he was in for a pound, and he leaned forward to take Peter's cock into his mouth. He felt Peter's body go unnaturally still and when he glanced up, cock still in his mouth, he saw why.

Peter's eyes were glowing with an electric blue that meant his control over himself was thin. The older man's hands were balled into fists, but he could see his thumbs and the nails seemed pointier than they should be. Peter was holding himself back.

And that _really_ shouldn't be as hot as it was.

Humming around the head of Peter's cock, Stiles steeled himself and bobbed his head, doing his best to keep his teeth away from the sensitive skin. He actually…kind of liked it, the feel of Peter's baby soft skin over the rock-solid hardness on his tongue. And he didn't taste bad at all, only of skin and salty sweat with a faint tang similar to the taste of Stiles's own come.

He bobbed faster, sucking lightly as he licked at the underside. The tip unexpectedly hit the back of his throat and Stiles pulled away, coughing, a few tears streaming down his cheeks from the discomfort of setting off his gag reflex. A thin rope of saliva hung from the tip of Peter's cock to his lower lip and Stiles nearly startled when Peter rubbed it away with his thumb.

As Stiles stared up at Peter, he wondered if he looked like any of the guys from his porn stash, faces wet with tears and slobber, eager cock sluts whose mouths hung open for more.

Whatever he looked like, it made Peter smile in satisfaction before pulling away, gently nudging him until Stiles was kneeling face down, ass up on the bed, his swiftly plumping cock hanging out of his open pants.

Peter took hold of his hips, thumbing them for a moment before pushing the pants halfway down his legs, revealing the tight, smooth curve of Stiles's ass. "_Jesus_," Peter muttered as he cupped each globe, giving them a quick squeeze that drew a gasp from Stiles's lips.

Stiles felt Peter's hands spread him, exposing his untouched pucker, and he squirmed in place, embarrassed by the sudden attention up until something hot and wet touched it. _Lapped_ at it. Oh _god_, that was _tongue_― that was _Peter's tongue_―and it was _licking_ at his hole, swirling over the tightly clenched muscle before _spearing_ in and―

It was probably a good thing he still had his pants on, wrapped as they were around his thighs, because Stiles might have dislodged Peter from his task had they not been keeping his legs still. Well, that and Peter had an iron grip on his hips, keeping Stiles from moving away from the tongue that was fucking into him in smooth jabs (it also kept Stiles from bucking back _onto_ his tongue, making the teen nearly sob at having to just lie there and _take _it).

Stiles had shoved a wad of comforter between his teeth to have something to chew on and whine into as Peter ate him out, teasing him with flicks of tongue. He groaned in relief when he heard the telltale snap of a lid being opened and Peter's tongue was replaced with slick fingers.

Peter started out with one, swiftly pressing in a second when Stiles bucked back eagerly. He thrust them in and out, twisting and _spreading_ them until Stiles whimpered at him to add a third.

As Peter worked him open with three fingers, Stiles clawed at the sheets and rocked back, feeling the burn of being stretched fade to a dull ache. He'd never gotten up to three before, not even when masturbating. Usually, Stiles came with just the one inside of him and, since it was unusual that he ever made it to two, Stiles was grateful that Peter had had the forethought to bring him off once already. Though he'd be more grateful if they could get to the fucking part…

Peter withdrew his fingers with a wet squelch that kind of made Stiles cringe to hear, but his embarrassment was short lived because no more fingers meant that Peter was finally going to―

A tearing sound came from behind him and Stiles twisted awkwardly to see what it was.

Peter had torn open a condom wrapper and was rolling it on with practiced ease, stroking his covered length a few times before reaching for the bottle of lube.

Wait? Where'd the condom come from?

At Stiles's confused look, Peter gave him a half smile. "I keep one on me for special occasions."

Stiles frowned. "But…werewolves can't get sick right? I mean, they can't catch, like, diseases and things. Not that I have anything to catch since, I've, um… never done this before. Do you really _need_ to wrap it up?" he asked, his voice small as he tried to mask his disappointment. Some of his favorite video clips had guys going in bareback, leaving their release in an opaque trickle from the hole they'd just used, and a really kinky part of Stiles wanted that for himself.

Peter rolled his eyes at him as he shuffled forward on his knees, getting into position. "Easy clean up," he said succinctly. He pushed forward, the head of his cock nudging forward into the loosened ring of muscle, and slid in _slowly_ until his hips were flush against Stiles's ass. "Maybe next time," Peter whispered in Stiles's ear, "we'll make sure you're _all cleaned out_ and so that the only thing oozing out of your tight little ass will be my _come_. How's that sound?"

Stiles whined, panting at the image. The intense burn of Peter's initial slide had diminished as he'd waited for Stiles to adjust to his dick. It hadn't hurt that Peter talked like it was less of a scenario and more of a _promise_ and it made Stiles's cock twitch, heavy and eager.

When Stiles started rocking back onto the cock impaling him, Peter pulled out a little and gently pushed back in, gradually lengthening his thrusts until only the tip stayed lodged inside, keeping Stiles open.

"So fucking pretty like this," Peter muttered watching his dick disappear into Stiles's hole, loving the way it _clutched_ at him, tighter than a glove. "Pretty with my cock between your lips, too. I really am the first, aren't I? The first to make you whine, make you _beg_," he thrust harder, emphasizing the word and smiling at Stiles's groan. "The first to see you take a cock so _perfectly_."

Stiles whimpered, Peter's words driving spikes of pleasure inside him to match the way the older man's cock was affecting him. With every other thrust, Peter seemed to brush against the spot inside him that made him shake and want more, that made him shove back harder and groan louder. Stiles didn't bother trying to be quiet. This was the first time that someone other than himself had brought him close to the edge― and since the only ears that could hear his pleas were ones that _wanted_ to hear them, Stiles made sure his appreciation was loud and clear.

"_Please_," he whined.

"What do you want?" Peter whispered in his ear, his body draped over Stiles's back. He held himself up with one arm, but was careful to keep a tight grip on the teen's hip, as if Stiles might run away if he let go.

"M-more," Stiles stuttered out, shoving back even though he was already practically sitting in Peter's lap.

"More?" Peter released his grip on Stiles's hip and slid his hand up the teen's sweaty chest to wrap firmly around his throat. His fingers squeezed a little tighter at the content sigh Stiles gave, but not enough to seriously construct air or blood flow.

"Harder," Stiles breathed.

Peter pulled out almost completely and snapped his hips forward, using his grip on Stiles's throat to drag the teen back hard onto his cock, his nails elongating and biting into Stiles's skin.

"_Fuck_, yes!" Stiles moaned, feeling the thrust reverberate deep inside his _bones_ and _loving_ it. The jagged teeth of Peter's zipper digging into the lower swell of his ass and the scrape of material on his skin drove home the fact that Peter was fucking him with his _pants still on_ and it made Stiles tremble at the _dirtiness_ of it all.

Something must have snapped inside Peter because his previously smooth, controlled thrusts turned into a frantic pounding that knocked the very breath out of Stiles.

Stiles's mouth was open in a silent scream. His eyes rolled back into his skull as every thrust seemed to brush against his prostate and the constant bursts of pleasure pushed him over the edge into orgasm, coming hard and completely untouched all over Derek's sheets.

Stiles's hole clenched down like a vice around Peter's cock and after one, two, _three_ violent snaps of his hips, Peter shuddered against Stiles's back as he emptied himself into the condom, his talon-tipped hand still clutching at Stiles's throat.

Gently, Peter eased them down onto the bed, his cock still buried in Stiles's ass, and they lay panting, their arms and legs haphazardly intertwined.

Stiles moaned absently when Peter slipped out of him. He felt empty in a way he never had before. Empty and exhausted and used and Stiles honestly couldn't remember why he'd wanted to leave the loft in the first place.

Peter rolled away long enough to fling away the used condom (hopefully into a trashcan or, at the very least, into a dark corner) before settling back against Stiles, pulling a corner of the comforter over them.

Remembering the puddle of come he had left on the bed, Stiles dragged up a portion of the cover to fold over it because he liked waking up stuck to dried jizz as much as the next guy.

"Yep," Stiles yawned. "_Definitely_ gonna kill us."

Peter nuzzled at Stiles neck with a content hum. "We'll worry about it later," he said, sounding as if he was close to falling asleep. He wrapped an arm over Stiles and pulled the teen closer so they could better share the one pillow that hadn't gotten knocked off the bed (since _no one_ seemed to want to move to retrieve one of the others).

Sweat drying on their skin and thoroughly exhausted, the two drifted off to sleep, knowing that they'd probably be getting one hell of a rude awakening when Derek came back.

But, hey, it was like Peter said: they were just following orders.


End file.
